


Crashed

by dreamingoutloud



Series: Flawed-The Enjolras/Grantaire Song Fic Collection [7]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Politics, Recovery, Songfic, Stream of Consciousness, crashed, daughtry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4370975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingoutloud/pseuds/dreamingoutloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he faces a major loss in his life, Grantaire turns to alcohol to numb the pain and heartbreak.  It becomes an obsession, taking over everything else that matters.  Then he finds another obsession to take its place, and it's so, so worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crashed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elliebeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliebeth/gifts).



> I can only apologize that this is short and not my usual work. My head has been all over the place this week. This came pouring out and here we are. I promise to make it up to the loyal and the faithful next week with one I've already started! (also I'm unreasonably amused that my word count ended up at 1,111)
> 
> The song chosen from the playlist for this work is Crashed, by Daughtry, which I believe actually is about alcohol and/or drug use.
> 
> "Well I was moving at the speed of sound.  
> Head-spinning, couldn't find my way around, and  
> Didn't know that I was going down.  
> Yeah, yeah.  
> Where I've been, well it's all a blur.  
> What I was looking for, I'm not sure.  
> Too late and didn't see it coming.  
> Yeah, yeah.
> 
> And then I crashed into you,  
> And I went up in flames.  
> Could've been the death of me,  
> But then you breathed your breath in me.  
> And I crashed into you,  
> Like a runaway train.  
> You will consume me,  
> But I can't walk away."

It had started slowly. He didn’t drink any more or any less than any other reckless teenager who thought the world owed him a living. Dancing at parties or clubs usually led to a few drinks, but nothing overwhelming. Then the leukemia happened. 

Not him. And maybe that was part of the problem. There was intense guilt borne of being the one to survive. No, he was fine, perfectly healthy. But he had to sit and watch as the love of his life, the girl he’d had every intention of making his wife someday, fought the disease. The more sick she got, the easier it became to hide his fears in a drink or two. And once she was gone, once he finally had to say goodbye, he had dealt the only way he knew how.

His friends were worried. He knew that. Despite what people feared, he wasn’t stupid. The alcohol hadn’t completely dumbed him down. They all watched him curiously, cautiously, as if afraid any wrong word would just send him that much further over the edge. He wasn’t entirely sure they were wrong, honestly. Though how much further could he possibly sink? His studies meant little to him anymore. Even art didn’t hold the same power over him that it used to. All that mattered was when he’d get his next fix. The moment he woke up in the morning, he chased off the nightmares with another drink. He numbed them during the night with one before bed. And that didn’t count the numerous ones through the day.

His life was no longer in his control and it was almost terrifying. If he’d let it be. But he didn’t, couldn’t want to. He couldn’t make himself care.

And then Enjolras happened.

Oh, he’d known the man for years. Everyone did, because Enjolras didn’t let you _not_ know him. He was vocal about everything, making his opinions widely known. The editorials for the university paper, the local paper, even the occasional guest segment on local television news. His face was all over campus, all over the city. But Grantaire remembered the young teen who’d only wanted to save the city. Who so desperately wanted to rid Paris of social injustice, economic inequality. The man, though, was more open. More willing to put himself out there. Willing to face the ridicule, able to withstand the insults and names hurled in his direction. 

He didn’t know when it happened. When he went from being that scrawny kid with too curly hair and a longing for rescuing the homeless puppies of Paris to the gorgeous leader standing in front of him. But Grantaire was very, very glad he had. 

Maybe it was the alcohol that spurred it on. Maybe the haze of his mind caused him to all but idolize the orator. Whatever it was, he had Enjolras on a pedestal before long. It didn’t even bother him, at first, that Enjolras barely even noticed him. Despite Joly’s occasional teasing about his stalking, despite Bossuet’s concerned expression, he still attended all the things that he’d once sworn meant nothing to him. They still didn’t. Truly. He simply found he couldn’t get enough of the sound of that voice, the passion in those words. He could imagine how passionate the man could be about other things, and it spurred him. 

The day finally came when Enjolras actually spoke to him. For the first time since they’d been in school, he had a one-on-one conversation with the object of his obsession. And it didn’t go well. Yet for the insults and the anger and the frustration, Grantaire found he simply couldn’t walk away. Despite all of that, he went to the next meeting the man had planned. And stood in the audience of the next rally. This continued for months, till he finally found his voice and started piping up with his own comments. Usually negative ones. He was hardened and cynical and bitter with the world. The world was a cold place that had allowed the love of his life to die. It allowed this man to not look twice at him unless he was causing trouble and starting a commotion over some subject that meant everything to that man. 

Though he wasn’t sure when it happened, at some point the alcohol became less important than making Enjolras notice him. It still mattered. It still controlled him. But it wasn’t the only thing he thought of. Now he thought of piercing ice blue eyes and sharp cheekbones and lightly toned biceps. 

He felt ridiculous, like a small boy with an impossible crush. Joly was the first to figure him out. As he likely always would. He had before, after all. And it was thanks to Joly that they found out that Enjolras was single. Had been for a while. The one thing that mattered to him was his cause of economic inequality. No one even knew if he preferred men or women or even both, since all that seemed to matter was when he’d make the next district representative cry.

So Grantaire’s thought was simple. Be noticed. Keep making points to challenge the man. Keep him on his toes, make sure he was unforgettable. So he listened more attentively, brought the more negative points to light. Though he could tell he was frustrating him, Enjolras was, at least, listening. 

Cutting back on the alcohol had never been intentional. It was simply that Grantaire was a singularly focused man. Once his train of thought consisted of more than one thing, it became difficult. So his focus turned to winning a spot in Enjolras’ circle of friends. Even if it never became more than that, he would understand. 

When it did, when it not only became a matter of gaining the man’s friendship, but also his trust? Alcohol couldn’t compete with the high that gave him. It wasn’t an overnight process. It took time. It took effort. And it unfortunately did take a toll on his health. But it was worth it for those moments when Enjolras would look into his eyes and smile with pride. When he’d roll his eyes playfully at Grantaire’s latest antics because they weren’t fueled by drunkenness but because he was enjoying himself. And that first time he kissed him, when there was no liquor altering the taste of the man he’d fallen for, when there was no booze fueling his decision making, it was the happiest he’d been since his heart had been so badly broken.

It wasn’t perfect. Life would never be. But healing was possible. And he was so, so grateful it was.


End file.
